


Ruby

by monstersinthecosmos



Series: The Usher [11]
Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Hair-pulling, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, gagging, mind control?, whoops they got in a fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 13:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15753045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstersinthecosmos/pseuds/monstersinthecosmos
Summary: And seeing him cry was… was…Like he’d ruined something beautiful.





	Ruby

**Author's Note:**

> Named after [Ruby by Tweaker.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rkkTZ7zQ3BA) :) 
> 
> Also if UR ENJOYING MY MUSIC I made a playlist of all the songs I've been using in this series, [here!](https://monstersinthecosmos.tumblr.com/post/159626820089/soundtrack-the-usher-01-savlonic-android)

_1981_

There had been some biting insult ready, he could still taste it in his mouth, but all capacity for language withered when he turned back around and saw the blood coming from Armand’s eyes. He felt it like a kick in the stomach.

“Armand…” his hand went to cover his mouth, then his chest. And they’d been fighting but he couldn’t remember why. There was a warm feeling inside, something guilty and loving, some protective instinct telling him that something was wrong. All anger dissipated and he came closer to the bed, crowded into Armand’s personal space. “You’re bleeding.”

The look of confusion should’ve been comical, but he was still so shattered. The pain on his face made him look like such a child.

“There’s something wrong with your eyes,” Daniel tried again. He reached to touch and stopped himself, not sure if he should, and pet the sides of Armand’s head, instead. His hands were trembling.

“That isn’t want you wanted to say,” Armand said. His voice was soft and worn out, but the words held the weight of accusation. His mouth was twisted and scowling and he looked up at the ceiling to avoid Daniel’s eyes. Beads of red hung in his eyelashes. Daniel could feel his heartbeat in the back of his throat.

“I…” God, that wasn’t fair. His face flushed hot with the shame of it. It didn’t matter that he’d forgotten what he was going to say, forgotten why he was mad, didn’t matter that he hadn’t actually said it. Armand had still heard. “I’m sorry.”

Armand sniffed and touched his fingertips to his forehead.

“Really though,” Daniel knelt down next to the bed, wedging himself between Armand’s legs. “You’re bleeding.”

The blood was pooling heavy in Armand’s eyes. Daniel could smell it.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. _For whatever it was_. He rubbed Armand’s thighs. “Really. Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing,” Armand pulled his shirt sleeve down to his fingertips to wipe his face. And it clicked. Oh.

 _Oh_.

It had startled him, of course, and the idea that Armand was hurt or ill had given him a visceral sense of panic, but that it was… just tears…

He felt cold all over and didn’t know if it was better.

“‘Just tears,’” Armand muttered.

“Sorry,” Daniel said again. His face was still burning and he knew he was probably red. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… know. That it would be blood.”

He touched Armand’s chin and tried to turn his face, to meet his gaze, but he was cold and stiff and didn’t yield. He was still scowling, but the way the corners of his mouth twitched were a tell that he was losing the battle for his own composure. More tears about to spill and Daniel grabbed Armand’s wrist before he could get more blood on his shirt sleeve.

“Babe, no,” he pleaded. “Let me get you a tissue, you’re gonna ruin your clothes.”

He wanted to apologize again but figured Armand was listening for it, anyway. And maybe Armand knew that Daniel was just fretting to keep his hands busy, to do something with the nervous energy. He stood back up and turned a circle in the room, looking for the tissue box. It was silly but it was something he could do to feel useful, to try to apologize. And Armand could probably hear him, knew what he was thinking. Ridiculous. Like Armand would’ve even worn the same shirt twice, anyway.

Finally he resorted to a wad of toilet paper from the bathroom, and Armand didn’t smile or thank him for it, but he didn’t look so upset anymore. His face had returned to the old deadpan that Daniel had become so accustomed to in the beginning, before he’d gotten to know the smiles. Armand dabbed at the corners of his eyes and wiped away the stray streak, then stared down at his hands in his lap.

 _I’m sorry_ , Daniel wanted to say again. He stepped back until he was leaning against the dresser, a safe distance away, and waited.

There was still that overhang of anxiety, constant low-pressure thrum of it making his hands cold, his stomach ache. This wasn’t their first fight, not at all, but _you fuckin’ made him cry_ _this time, Christ._ They’d fight again, he knew. And they’d get over it. But the realization that he could do this type of damage was sort of staggering.

“I have to go,” Armand said, and he stood. Daniel almost protested—it’s a rule, right? Don’t go to bed angry, that sort of thing. That’s what healthy couples said, wasn’t it? You’re supposed to talk until it makes sense, until it’s mended. He even went as far as to step forward and reach for Armand’s hand to ask him to stay and talk, ready to apologize again, when the color of the sky caught his eye through the window. Right. _Fuck_.

Still, Armand met him halfway, and he wasn’t smiling but he gave Daniel’s hand a little squeeze. That was something.

“I’ll come back,” he promised. And then he was gone.

Fights aside, this was usually the hardest part of his day. His nerves were still shot and he didn’t think he’d be able to fall asleep yet, too coiled and tense. He grabbed his cigarettes and pried the bathroom window open to sit outside on the fire escape, chain-smoking as he watched the sun rise. The city was coming to life down below—he swung his legs gently over the edge and watched as more and more people emerged into the streets to start their days.

He’d never felt as isolated as he had these last few months.

But the sun was only charming while it was still soft, and by the time his throat hurt from smoking it was bright and oppressive and the streets were getting loud. He grumbled and crawled back inside, left his clothes in a trail back to the bedroom. Sleep still didn’t seem likely but at least it was darker in here. Muscle memory told him to flop into the bed, bury his face in the pillow, but something caught his eye and made him stop.

Armand had left the tissues on the corner of the mattress, crumpled into a ball and flecked with red. Daniel stared at it for a moment, and scratched at the stubble on his jaw, almost afraid to touch it. Morning always felt surreal, suspended in time, something like a liminal space. More than once he’d wondered if Armand was even real, but every so often there would be some… token. Here was a piece of evidence.

The thought of it was still making him shudder, making the hair raise on his neck. _It was blood_. He could still see Armand’s face.

When he finally moved, he sat on the corner of the bed and picked it up. He held it in his hands like a precious thing, a talisman. He pressed his thumb against the red and was surprised that it still felt damp. It was still bright red, no sign of rust yet. Something special.

But rubbing at it made a hole in the paper, and he made himself stop. It had disintegrated right there against his fingers and…

He tilted his head and actually laughed a little.

A stupid idea, surely, and for as often as he questioned his own sanity he at least had the sense to admit, now and then, that his life choices weren’t helping. He usually had enough reason left to scold himself for drinking too much, or leaning too hard on drugs to fall asleep. Maybe it felt like that. Like, that he was looking at the tissue falling apart in his hands and thinking that it reminded him of blotter paper was probably a sign that something was very wrong upstairs.

And, tissue, sure. He rolled his eyes, even at himself. Be real, Molloy. It’s fucking toilet paper.

But he was peeling a little tab out of it, even as he told himself it was going too far. A little square around a perfect drop, a perfect red circle. And it was in his mouth before he could even tell himself to stop.

It was under his tongue at first, and he stared down at the rest of the paper in his hand as he waited. Impatient. And he couldn’t taste it enough. He licked it up against the roof of his mouth and poked at it, felt the way it was dissolving into little clumps, but at least there was flavor now. He tapped his feet against the carpet and smoothed the paper out over his thigh while he waited.

The onset was slow, not like the usual instant burn of a hot mouthful. But he felt it creeping in, warm under his collar at first, then the tips of his ears, and then finally smoothing out to the peace he’d been waiting for. His eyes fluttered closed and he fell back against the bed, holding the rest of the paper against his stomach. There were patterns blooming in the dark, beneath his eyelids.

For a moment it was too quiet, and he wanted to turn on music, maybe even the TV for background noise, but he was sinking down against the mattress and it was so, so soft. He didn’t want to move. The visions were ruby red, growing and shrinking like a kaleidoscope, and he didn’t want to open his eyes.

This was, of course, the most frustrating relationship he’d ever been in. And there were things about it that he hadn’t been able to admit yet. Not out loud, anyway, but maybe Armand just _knew_. Like, how do you make up before bed when every night has a deadline? How do you settle for someone who can only be around half the time?

So many mornings like this, crashing from the high, or hungover and sick, and all of it seemed like a fever dream. He’d have to stare at the tiny, almost-gone scars on his neck to prove it was even real. It was like Armand didn’t exist anymore once the sun came up.

But here, today. The paper had fallen apart in his mouth and he swallowed it. Here was a piece he got to keep, and it felt like Armand was still here in the room.

There was guilt, and shame, and it wasn’t the good kind of shame that Armand knew how to manipulate until it was fun. It was dark, painful. Seeing red in his closed eyes made him think of it again, the tears. _Blood tears_. And it was obvious, again, that this was something dangerous.

He opened his eyes, but the dull gray-white of the ceiling was too empty, a blank canvas, and it didn’t make the visions stop. Instead he just saw Armand again, the utterly shattered look on his face. It had really felt like an accomplishment the first time he’d seen Armand’s real smile, his real laugh, saw the way it transformed him, brought out his humanity. And seeing him cry was… was…

 _Fuck_.

Like he’d ruined something beautiful. Like taking a bat to Venus de Milo.

He wasn’t hungover but his stomach churned anyway.

It was uneasy, pivoting there between hurt and awe. Armand getting that upset made him look human and vulnerable, every bit the seventeen-year-old. _A fucking kid_. But Daniel couldn’t stop the frisson crawling over his skin, the heat settling down in the typical places. _Blood tears_. It was becoming harder to tell the thrill of danger from that of arousal and even on that sweet face the blood had looked so sinister.

He’d already undressed down to his boxers for bed, and it didn’t even register when he pushed them down just enough, just out of the way, enough to get a hand around his growing half-erection. It had become such a ritual, always helping him fall asleep, shaking off the excess tension after Armand left every morning, that maybe it was inevitable.

Jerking off always felt a bit abstract after being around Armand. It would usually start with something practical, realistic. Sometimes even replays of things they’d done together. Armand’s cold hands on his skin, the effortless, monstrous strength pinning his wrists above his head. But his mind always grew restless and pushed them further, even to do things that were unrealistic. His eyes closed and he saw the red again, and his hand stroked up and down, and the feeling like Armand was with him in the morning sunlight was as absurd as his imagination telling him that he could bend the boy in half to fuck him. Still, he wanted it, and even a stray tab of blood was enough to make him feel Armand’s presence in the room. He pumped himself harder and saw it, bathed in the red beneath his visions.

His legs were still hanging over the side of the bed and he pressed his heels down into the carpet.

He’d forgotten to be mad in the heat of the moment, slate wiped clean at the shock, but it was beginning to come back. He imagined having Armand on hands and knees, face pressed to the pillow, leaving a sloppy red stain. And Daniel could be rough and take what he needed, leave bruises on Armand’s hips beneath his grip, pound in until Armand apologized. Maybe Armand would be cold and tight and maybe he’d beg. Daniel pictured grabbing a handful of the auburn curls and yanking his head back, seeing the streaks of tears ruining his face again.

A shudder ran through his body at the mental image, and he wasn’t sure if it was fear or disgust but it clicked something into place and he was coming across his belly before he could figure it out.

It took the edge off the anger, buzzed pleasantly in his nerves, smoothed out by Armand’s blood. The tissue was still in his free hand and he when he came back down to Earth he used to to wipe up the mess.

Armand would come back. At least, Daniel hoped so. He’d never disappeared after promising not to. They’d still need to talk but he was feeling calm again, soft, and wondered if maybe he’d even be able to sleep.

He stretched and cracked his neck before putting himself back into his shorts and standing, returning to the bathroom to throw the tissue away. He had to squint his eyes against the sunlight pouring in through the bathroom window, no longer protected by the heavy bedroom drapes.

For a moment he stood over the sink, taking another swipe across his abs to make sure he’d gotten everything, and the tissue tingled against his skin. He held it out in his palm, curious, and watched as the red spots began to go brown in the sunlight, then black, then chew holes into the paper. There were tiny wisps of smoke curling up and he dropped it into the sink in a panic, unsure if it would burn him.

The sight of it almost ruined his calm, and he ran water over it just in case, and splashed his face and rubbed his palms against his eyes. It was red, red, red, pulsing and expanding in shapes and lines and when he went to lay back down he pulled the blankets completely over his head for the darkness.

When he woke he couldn’t remember what his dreams were about, but Armand was curled around him, warm and gentle, and the first thought in his head was that he’d discovered something extraordinary. There was a kiss to his shoulder blade in response.

 _Hi_.

He heard the voice echo in his head and even as an illusion he could hear the softness, the apology. Armand never sounded so human out loud.

“Morning,” he mumbled against his pillow. A warm hand came around his middle, settled on his chest, pulled him in tight. Daniel was still tired enough that it felt normal. Small snippets of their fight had come back to him during the day and it was chasing off the comfortable haze of sleep.

The thought of it ran cold over his spine. It made Armand’s arms feel like a vice. His eyes opened and he felt completely awake suddenly, and tried to sit up, but Armand didn’t let him.

He grit his teeth and tried to relax. “I’m still mad at you. Let me go.”

Armand didn’t answer, but didn’t move either. His hand rubbed slowly up and down Daniel’s ribs for a moment, then stopped over his heart. The anger was making it thrash in his chest and his face went hot knowing that Armand could feel it. He took a moment to steel himself, and was about to attempt to get up again, but Armand’s leg came up, too, curling around Daniel’s, squeezing him in closer.

_I thought you were sorry._

“Well I changed my mind.”

He stared ahead at the split where the curtains met, the pale pink of the light pollution. His jaw clenched hard enough to ache up to his temples. He wanted coffee. He needed a cigarette.

If it were anyone else, the embrace would seem so normal, so innocent. But even in such a loose grasp he couldn’t get free. Armand was unmoving, eerily still, not even breathing. It was vaguely repulsive but flushed his insides warm. His mind carded through the last few days. The crying, and the argument, the tissue burning in the bathroom. The visions of red and his imagination taking Armand from behind. He closed his eyes and saw all of it again. Armand was kissing his jutting cervical bone in the silence.

“It’s just…” Armand’s hand was idly trailing back and forth on the skin below Daniel’s navel and he had to squeeze his eyes closed harder to focus. “You don’t know how this feels.”

_Don’t I?_

What was it that Armand said last night? Daniel heard it again, the strained voice, the emotion clipping the words with an ancient accent.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Armand had pleaded, and Daniel had to turn away because he couldn’t even stand the sight of him. He’d crossed his arms over his chest and looked up at the ceiling.

“I’m an adult, Armand. That’s more than I can say for you.”

And that was the last thing, because then Armand hadn’t answered, and when Daniel had turned back around…

They both went stiff in the present and Daniel scolded himself again, self conscious of the way Armand could see inside.

“I’m not…” he almost moved to turn around, wondering if he should be looking at Armand’s face, but his nerves got the best of him and he kept staring at the curtains. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. But I still think you’re being unfair.”

_You don’t know what it was like for me._

“Because you won’t tell me.”

Armand’s fingertips tucked into the waistband of Daniel’s boxers but went no further.

“It’s just…” he put his hand over Armand’s. “It feels like you don’t want me. You’re putting an expiration date on… this thing that we have.”

_You couldn’t even stand the sight of blood tears._

“Come on, that’s not fair.”

_You think you can take life?_

He felt Armand’s teeth grazing the skin over his spine and it made his hair stand up. It was familiar at this point—those teeth had bitten him so many times, drawn his blood, but he couldn’t keep from shuddering at the thought of Armand taking his life. Imagining that he’d drink and drink and wouldn’t stop. Even the warmth in his skin now was stolen and Daniel swallowed hard trying to picture it. This was a killer in his bed. Even an hour ago he’d probably killed someone.

_Would you like me to tell you about them?_

“Who...” Daniel began, but the squeeze around his body stopped him. The revulsion and fear tingled on the surface of his skin and the warmth surrounding him felt threatening.

 _My Maker tried to frighten me like this._ Daniel’s heart hammered in his ears. Armand was nuzzling against his shoulder blade. _He tried to warn me._

His stomach was in knots and his mind frantically tried to comb over what little information he knew. All he had was what Louis had told him. Armand would deny him every time he dared ask for more.

The promise of it was distracting from the anger again and he had to beg himself to focus.

“Did it work?” he asked. His voice cracked and he threaded their fingers together, still joined at his hip.

A moment passed where he was foolish enough to think he’d get a real answer, and he was foolish enough to be surprised when he felt the penetration of teeth. At first he gasped, because he usually did, because familiarity never made it hurt less, but once the pain washed over he was moaning. Instinctively he leaned back into Armand’s embrace, even ground himself back against Armand’s pelvis.

Armand’s lips were soft around the wound, and his tongue was tracing circles around the puncture marks. He wasn’t drawing it out, wasn’t sucking at it, just letting Daniel bleed. He tried to focus on the real world, stared hard at the curtains and tried to remember his own anger, but he couldn’t help feeling like all of his will, his energy, his life-force was slowly draining out. Armand made a pleased little sound from behind him and he reverberated against the pain.

He could see rooms. Louis had told him it was Venice, though it had been hard to get Armand to ever admit it. But he could see it. Part of him thought about all the trips they’d taken to museums, all the artwork Armand had shown him. Sometimes he’d comment on parts that seemed familiar, that he remembered. But these rooms he was seeing weren’t the museum-like, too-perfect quality he’d imagined. They were real and lived in. The bed was unmade and there was a drop cloth on the floor, pots of paint scattered everywhere.

The tips of Armand’s nails dug into the skin over his hip bone.

There was a face then. It was cut into the other images—the canal and the fireplace and the paintings over the stairs. It was fast enough that Daniel wasn’t sure he saw it, and he struggled to focus over the sensation of blood being drawn from his body, over how hard it was making him.

Patient, loving. Blonde hair and blue eyes. But he was so white. Whiter than Armand was.

Just the sight of it shocked through Daniel’s body, and it was gone so fast he felt like he’d imagined it. His heart was pounding wildly from the thrill, finally seeing some small piece of the puzzle he’d been craving. All the times he’d begged Armand for details only to be given nothing.

“Armand…” he whimpered, and tried to shift and face him, but the grip around his body tightened and the teeth clamped in again so that he couldn’t move.

The ceilings were high and there were friezes in the walls. At first it was just a vision from Armand, floating between them, but Daniel’s eyes fluttered shut and he felt completely immersed. He was there in the bed, and the sun was dying outside the tall windows, and Armand was kneeling at the edge of the mattress, drawing the curtains around them. For a moment Daniel was almost disappointed that Armand was nude—it had long been an obsession to visualize him in his old clothes—but he was distracted quickly enough by the ruddy human skin and the dick at attention between his legs.

And god, he didn’t know what was coming over him except that it was so new, something he’d wanted for so long. He was crawling towards Armand before he realized he was doing it, and bending himself in half as if in prayer. Armand’s hands came down against the back of his head, gentle but commanding, as he kissed the top of Armand’s thigh, then the soft skin of his groin, the vague shape of a vein in the bottom of his cock. Armand didn’t make any sound, but petted Daniel’s hair as he licked up the shaft and took it into his mouth.

He’d fantasized about this so many times and it had become another abstract vision, something he knew could never happen. Even now he was aware on some level that it wasn’t happening, but he was too overwhelmed to think about it. They were in a hotel room somewhere, maybe. They were in the middle of a fight. But he couldn’t remember it, and all he could think about was lavishing his master with affection.

Armand’s hips were rolling in small circles, dictating his pace as he bobbed his head up and down. It occurred to him that he’d never gotten to see Armand fully erect, and he was surprised by the size. Bigger than he’d expected, and he didn’t think he’d be able to get the whole length into his mouth. He reached to take the shaft in his hand, strokes slick with saliva, making it easier to focus on the top half, but it only lasted a moment before Armand took his wrist and pinned it to the bed.

Fuck.

The free hand in his hair tightened and the pain spread out across his shoulders, curled in his toes. Armand looked human but his strength was the same—Daniel’s hand was going numb from the vice grip and he wondered if he’d bruise. The thrusts went harder, handful of hair holding him right where he was so that Armand could drill forward until he was hitting the back of Daniel’s throat.

It was making him shudder and gag and he could feel the spit pooling in his mouth, dripping out and down his chin. There were noises coming out of him that he hadn’t meant to make and it was making his face go hot. He had to remind himself to breathe through his nose. His throat was contracting around it and his skin broke out in chills.

God, he wanted it, though. Something was telling him that it was exactly where he wanted to be, and Armand didn’t stop him when he reached between his own legs to touch himself. He could come like this, choking on Armand’s cock, utterly broken down and put where he belonged. Subservient and in place. He wasn’t sure where these thoughts were coming from but couldn’t focus, didn’t care. His body wanted it and he stroked himself frantically.

There was one more sharp thrust, and Armand held him where he was, his throat sore and scratchy around it until his eyes were watering. Armand’s thumb came down to wipe a tear away, and then he was being pulled off. 

He was coughing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, curling inward and leaning his forehead against Armand’s leg. It was an instinct that he was ready to continue once he caught his breath, nuzzling Armand’s inner thigh for a moment before trying again, but his hair was being tugged at and he was being pushed, pulled, turned around. A hand was pressing against his back to force his chest down to the mattress and his spine arched, ass on display. Vaguely humiliating but something inside him still wanted this, was begging for it.

Armand didn’t speak, and Daniel figured he didn’t need to. He knew what Armand wanted and knew what he was supposed to do. He leaned forward against his arms, leaned his face down into the pillows as Armand settled behind him and rubbed at his hips.

He couldn’t remember how they got here but he was prepared already, slick and opened so that Armand was able to push through in one motion. For some reason he felt it through his whole body, the way he did sometimes when Armand would bite him. He wanted to moan but nothing came out. His jaw stretched and ached in the silence.

The first thrusts were slow but decisive, focused. All of it seemed familiar and practiced, the way Armand hit his prostate and the size of him stretching Daniel open. It seemed natural but he couldn’t remember them doing this before. He bit the back of his hand to keep from crying out as Armand held him still and began to go faster. His eyes were still watery from choking and when he squeezed them shut the tears rolled down his face. The pace was unnatural and the drag of the thick cock in and out of his body had him gasping. Maybe he squeaked.

Hands left his hips and nails scratched their way up his back, stripes of red pain cutting in through the haze. His knees slid further apart and Armand pulled him back up with an arm around his waist. He could only float there for a moment, stunned and sated by the feeling of being completely dominated, when the pain interrupted again. This time it was a tight handful of hair, Armand yanking his head back so that he saw stars. He saw the headboard and the tester and the ceiling in a blur, and cried out louder than he’d meant to. Through everything he realized he didn’t know where they were or if anyone could hear them. Still, his volume seemed somewhat out of his own control.

The air felt cool on his wet cheeks.

He swallowed hard, straining against the way his head was pulled back and throat was bared tight. His own cock was beginning to drip down against the bed and he went to touch, to take the edge off. He rubbed the bead of precum with his thumb and tried to stroke to match Armand’s thrusts, struggling to focus enough to keep up.

But then it stopped.

Armand held him where he was and the pain was blooming at the back of his skull, tingling across his scalp and down his spine. Instinctively, Daniel’s hand stopped, as well, squeezing around the base for a moment in stillness.

He wanted to ask why they’d stopped but couldn’t find his voice. Armand shifted behind him and he felt skin against skin, Armand leaning forward and folding over him, and then slow, warm licks against the scratches on his back. He could hear himself whining and his body tensed, shoulder blades rose as he gripped himself harder and waited. His body was clenching around Armand’s dick.

 _Please,_ he wanted to say, and the word was just outside his grasp. _Please don’t stop. I’m sorry, please don’t stop._

He couldn’t see Armand’s face, but the way his thumb rubbed a gentle circle on Daniel’s scalp, amid the sharp pain, felt smug. It seemed to say _Go on, Daniel._

His hand began to move again, slowly, and he rocked his hips back. He held himself up with his free arm and it was shaking under the strain. If he moved his whole body the pain would shoot out from his head again, fiery and intense, and he had to focus on only moving his hips. Armand stayed still and allowed him to do it, and the condescending way he continued to pet Daniel with his thumb was so embarrassing. _Look how desperate you are, Daniel,_ it said.

Daniel had to admire the ability to ruin him with just a finger.

The humiliation of it bristled all over and he could feel it triggering his orgasm, his body wound tight and ready for it. Armand’s free hand grazed over his belly, traced the crest of his rib cage, pinched him on the nipple, and fresh tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes when he finally came. It was more intense than usual, more full-bodied, and his ears were ringing and he still couldn’t remember where he was, and the room spun again as Armand flipped him over onto his back. He was too caught in the aftershock to comprehend what was happening, didn’t see Armand move to straddle his chest and didn’t realize it had happened until the weight was crushing around him and he was wheezing to catch his breath.

Even like this and Armand was perfectly cool, poised above him and touching himself. Slow and deliberate. He pet the hard cartilage of Daniel’s throat with the backs of his knuckles, and his thumb pressed against the throbbing pulse. His head tilted, almost curious, but his face was expressionless, eyes lidded as if he were bored. There was barely a sign of it when he came, his face never gave it away, but Daniel flinched at the hot spray across his face. The hand around his throat went tighter, nails tearing into his skin, and he squirmed when he saw the way Armand’s seed was dripping red between his own fingers.

There was that dizzy feeling of coming to. Black spots in his vision for a moment and metallic taste in his mouth. His brain felt fuzzy and the curtains came into focus, and it all looked familiar but took him a moment to remember where he was. Sharp pain in his neck from Armand’s nails—no, his teeth—but Armand was finishing up, cleaning him with little kitten licks and stroking back and forth across his stomach. 

And…

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled. He didn’t even have to look, or touch, to feel the way his boxers were wet, or to shudder against the hypersensitivity of the way they clung to his spent dick. Really? He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to remember the last time he came in his fucking pants. “Really, Armand?”

And did he fucking… giggle? It was put on, for sure, not the usual dark tone of a signature Armand laugh. But it said all he needed to say.

He had to struggle to untangle from Armand’s limbs and knew that Armand was allowing him to finally get up. His face was flushed with irritation and shame as he peeled off his boxers and stepped out of them. He grabbed his cigarettes off the side table and leaned against the wall next to the window as he lit one. Irritated, but he couldn’t help the groan as the nicotine flushed over his fresh orgasm.

Armand smiled up at him from the bed and he turned to blow smoke through the window.

“I don’t know why the fuck I bother.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Say hi on Tumblr!](https://monstersinthecosmos.tumblr.com/post/177230511029/ruby-monstersinthecosmos-vampire-chronicles)


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